Mastermind
by Planetaire
Summary: In an alternate universe of spies and organizations, the threat of sabotage lurks. A sinister organization known as "Royale" looms over the already shaky government...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Karkat Vantas was running late. He checked his watch and cursed.

"Fifteen minutes," he muttered darkly. "Only fifteen minutes to catch a bus and make five stops." He tapped his foot impatiently. When the bus came, Karkat was completely sure that he would be late. The grim prospect of facing his boss loomed over him like a specter, waiting for the critical moment to pounce and snap his neck. He waited impatiently for all five stops, and wasted another five minutes waiting for the elevator.

Karkat caught a few glances and odd looks as he strode through the office space, but they bounced off as though striking titanium. He was a man on a mission. He stomped over to the humming bank of computer terminals he called a desk and sat down as loudly as possible, shooting a burning glare at a coworker who had been giggling into his hand.

"Chill out, KK!" laughed the coworker in question.

"I don't need your shit, Mr. Captor."

"Have it your way, crabcakes," Sollux Captor shot back. "The boss is gonna whip your sorry ass." Karkat bit his lip. Sollux was right. His boss was the kind of person who would, as Sollux had so eloquently put it, "whip your sorry ass" as soon as look at you.

"Mr. Vantas, the boss wants to see you," came a static-filled voice over the intercom. Karkat righted himself, flushing crimson and striding purposefully towards the office door into the hallway. He stiffly dragged his feet over the polished tiles and pushed open the austere office door.

"Come on in, Karkat," said a voice, and Karkat had no choice but to oblige. He stepped into the room, lit only by the erratic glow of the myriad computer monitors. His boss spun around in her chair.

"So," said Vriska Serket. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I was late," snapped Karkat. Vriska casually reapplied her lipstick.

"As you know," she said coldly, "our aim is to gather information, to later be utilized by the government." Karkat nodded uneasily. What was she getting at? "Therefore," said Vriska, "Punctuality is key." She stood, her back to Karkat. "We are in the midst of a case like no other." Here she stopped, shooting Karkat a glance, as though daring him to guess what it was.

"What is it?" asked Karkat, finally giving in to curiosity.

"We've received reports of a sinister private organization calling itself 'Royale'. It is of utmost importance" -here she tapped a highly polished nail against the edge of a computer monitor- "that we uncover the identity of its members."

"Why do you care if I was late, then?"

"For _obvious_ reasons, Mr. Vantas," Vriska said, rolling her eyes. "Did I _not_ just inform you that this mission was _urgent_?"

Karkat was dismissed almost immediately afterwards. As he walked down the hall, glaring bitterly out the frequently distributed panoramic windows, a slight sound reached his ears. It sounded like a light, padded object hitting the floor.

"Hey," came a whisper from behind Karkat. "You dropped something."

"I'm pretty sure I didn't," he muttered to himself. "But I guess there's no harm in checking." He spun around, and came face to face with… no one. "That's odd," he thought. "I could have sworn…"

"I'm sorry, Karkat, do you need directions?" came a familiar infuriating voice. It was Sollux. "You look lost."

"Fuck off," growled Karkat. Sollux threw up his hands in surrender.

"God, KK, is this really necessary? Like every time I talk to you."

"I said-"

"-To fuck off, I know. Like you do every time." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "We have a deadline, idiot. You know that, don't you?" Karkat stormed past his colleague.

"I know," he grumbled, pushing open the office door with unnecessary force. He sat down at his computer terminal, but he couldn't stop thinking about what Vriska had said. Karkat decided to Google the Royale Group, in hopes that they might be more active than his own company suspected. All that came up were a motherload of dud search results and a single promising-looking site. He clicked on it, feeling a surge of excitement. The page loaded painfully slowly, blocks of text appearing in awkward, unreadable chunks. Finally, the hourglass icon that had been chasing Karkat's mouse was still. The page contained only one discernable word: _gotcha_.

Karkat had never felt so stupid in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry it took me a while to update! I've gotten to a good bit, however, and I hope that makes up for it!**

Chapter Two

A figure swathed in tight-fitting black clothes crouched in the darkness. A pair of feline eyes scanned their surroundings cautiously. The figure sat down with barely a sound and tapped its earpiece.

"Black Cat to Archer, come in Archer, do you read me? Over." The voice emanating from the figure was feminine, and frankly, a bit obnoxious.

"Archer to Black Cat. Clear as crystal. Um, over." Came the earpiece's crackly reply.

"Good," the figure, presumably known as Black Cat, said. "Did you find…" She licked her lips, green eyes darting around nervously. "…What we were looking for?"

"Not yet," said Archer gruffly. "It's really quite tricky, in this place."

"At least take out the security. I'll be there in a bit."

"Roger." Came the last reply from the earpiece. Black Cat hitched a metal hook over the rim of an open window, and in a flash, moved her slim, lithe body out into the night.

Karkat's blood was boiling. It was, he thought, hot enough to cook spaghetti. Really disgusting blood spaghetti. Not only had his search gone wrong, he had been pulled in front of his boss, arrived late to work… all in all, his day was going just awfully. He meant to leave work early, and he didn't care about the consequences. Karkat strode through the glass double doors and out onto the parking lot. He walked all the way to the bus stop and stayed there until a bus came. He stayed on the bus until it pulled up at a corner near his favorite shady establishment. The hand-painted sign over the door was so faded it could hardly be read, and the door itself was painted black. Karkat pulled the door open dejectedly and stomped inside. A burst of lively jazz and conversation reached his ears. He sat down on a barstool with a thump that would have frightened the shadiest of patrons.

"Hey, kid," said the gaunt-looking piano player. "I told you not to bother me."

"Nice to see you too, Jack." Karkat shot back.

"Do you want me to ground your ass?"

"Try me." Karkat sunk down onto the bar. Jack sighed and walked over.

"Look, kid. I know that today is not the best for you." He jabbed Karkat in the back with a finger. "You listening? Cause I don't see ya." Karkat swatted Jack's hand away with a groan.

"Stop that," he said.

"Hey, Slick! Keep your little bro out of here!" someone yelled. Jack shot them a scathing glare.

"Karkat, get the fuck out. I don't want to babysit you." He pushed Karkat in the direction of the door. "Go, um, I don't know. Go back home if your work is giving you shit. I got a solo in like five minutes."

Karkat arrived at his apartment. He unlocked the door, which issued a rusty wail. He stepped through the doorway with purpose, catching a glimpse of himself in a spotted mirror. The bathroom door had been left ajar. Karkat grumbled to himself and fiddled with the bathroom door. His disheveled reflection looked, in Karkat's opinion, like Death warmed over. His messy, dark hair stuck up in an unwieldy crown, and crashed back over his shadowed eyes. He shut the bathroom door.

As Karkat walked past his apartment's largest window, a chill ran down his spine. A dark shape whisked across the glass.

"Hello?" he asked tentatively. There was no response. But a miniscule, nagging feeling tickled his brain stem like a frantic centipede. A small sound reached his ears.

"Psst!" was what the sound sounded like. Karkat whirled around, and in a flash, a hand slapped over his mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

In the bowels of the hallowed Anderson Building lies a string of grimy cement holding cells, water-stained and sunlight-deprived. In the bowels of a certain forgotten cellblock lies a single young man. He is out cold, his limp arms folded painstakingly over his head, as if blindfolding him. He rolls over and his eyes slide groggily open, his hands slipping to the grimy concrete floor with the fluidity of an irritated housecat. He will obviously not be helpful to the storyline for a while, so let's focus on someone else.

The little coffee shop was perfect for a reconnaissance point. It was known to attract ordinary people with ordinary lives, and therefore was the perfect place for a group of hardened secret agents to discuss affairs over coffee and slightly stale blueberry muffins.

"Let's discuss the missing agent, folks. He's about 5' 2", weirdly forgettable, and a complete asshole. " The speaker paused to take a sip of coffee. "Ring any bells?"

"I think he's a little taller than 5'2", Sollux," remarked another agent.

"Well, that's your unpopular opinion, TZ," Sollux shot back. "All I'm saying is that he's really short."

"Can we _please_ focus on the topic at hand here?" A female agent across the table scolded, breaking her muffin in two. "If Karkat dies, you know who gets blamed? The field agents." The entire group nodded. Kanaya was a mother figure to all of them, and besides, she had a point. Kanaya pointed to an unkempt-looking agent.

"Gamzee, you tell us. Do you have any leads being, after all, Karkat's self-proclaimed 'best friend'?" The cocoa-skinned individual started. He looked stoned, but that was hardly unusual. He licked his lips and propped his feet up on the table.

"Naw, but we looked at his Internet history, and he'd Googled…" Gamzee paused for dramatic effect. "The Royale organization."

"And when we clicked on it," a wheelchair-bound agent piped up, "It was a blank page with a little error text on top." The entire table's attention had been piqued. Kanaya leaned forward, barely containing her excitement.

"And what did that say, Tavros?" she urged. Tavros looked uncomfortable.

"It, uh, said something like 'we can't let you get away with this' and, uh, a bunch of unreadable error code…" he stammered.

"Well that explains it," said Terezi. "He goes looking for trouble, and gets himself kidnapped. We know that much." The entire table nodded their agreement and lapsed into silence.

We have already seen the Anderson Building. We have seen its armor of reflective glass windows, steel framing and nondescript brickwork. We have seen the festering dungeon and its prisoner. But we have not seen the upper floors. On the ground floor, in the lobby, shady dealings are taking place. The exchange of information for money occurs, and both ends of the trade part ways. The trader who walks away with the money smirks to himself, tucking the check into his coat pocket. He composes himself, straightens his collar, and he is gone. On the other end of the deal, the trader in question's eyes glimmer from beneath her hood. She takes the information to heart and stalks toward the elevator, her shoulders hunched and her face in shadow.

She travels down to the basement and strides out of the elevator. She approaches the familiar cell.

"Get up, prisoner," she hisses. The young man on the floor rolls over. His eyes open and he gets up, spitting mildew and swearing.

"How the fuck did I get here?" he yells, stray dust and dirt particles flying. "Who the hell are you?" The hooded figure grins.

"Good to see you awake, Agent Vantas," she purrs. "Now, I'm afraid you might have to be interrogated as soon as possible." She taps her headset. "Archer! Come help me get our guest upstairs!" she covers the microphone and leans closer to Karkat. "You caught us on a good day, Agent." Soon a heavyset, burly man steps out of the elevator.

"You called?" he mutters, and the girl grabs Karkat's ankles with surprising strength.

"You get the other end, Archer," she snaps. "There's no time to waste."

The apartment door creaked open and a bleary-eyed Jack stumbled inside, almost tripping over the doormat. He called Karkat's name several times, but he heard nothing but silence. He grew more frantic, searching every room. Finally he sat down heavily on the sofa, the ripped fabric exhaling a cloud of yellowed stuffing onto the floor. In his pocket, his phone buzzed. He picked it up tiredly.

"Hey," he muttered into the cell, rubbing his eyes. "Who is this?" He started slightly as the voice on the other end giggled loudly.

"It's me, silly! Didn't you see the contact?"

"Must've missed it," Jack said. "Shit, Molly, I'm totally out of it."

"That's fine, Jack. But more importantly, _why_ are you 'out of it'?" Molly sounded concerned, and Jack knew she was probably chewing her lower lip like she always did when something distressed her. He groaned.

"Well, first of all, late night at the club-" he paused to let Molly say her piece, but all he got was nervous humming. "Not to mention the kid's missing…"

"Oh, that's terrible! Should I come over or something?" Molly gasped.

"I guess," said Jack weakly. He knew there was no swaying her once she had her mind set on something. He looked out the window, not seeing. What was going on?


End file.
